


Good Game

by byesweetheart (ConstantComment)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Porn, Bad Dirty Talk, Dirty Talk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 06:57:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12676722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantComment/pseuds/byesweetheart
Summary: Working for a gay porn production company for a living—also known as fucking other guys on camera in a room with ten bored crew members for a living—had about as much drama as you could expect, with nearly 40 actors working together in various ways (and positions). That is to say, there was dramaalways.





	Good Game

**Author's Note:**

> **Day 2: Dirty Talk**
> 
>  
> 
> Ever wish people would just shut the fuck up and fuck in the porn you’re watching? ;D TOO BAD, THERE’S SOME PORNO-RIFIC DIRTY TALK COMING (AAAAHAHAHA) YOUR WAY! 
> 
> I enjoyed writing Kuroo as an extension of his very dramatic self. What would a guy who says crazy shit like, “We’re like the blood in our veins,” be like if he did porn? XD And how would Daichi react? In other news, I have as much interest in portraying the porn industry realistically as the porn industry has in portraying reality, so please enjoy this bit of goofy fun!

Working for a gay porn production company for a living—also known as fucking other guys on camera in a room with ten bored crew members for a living—had about as much drama as you could expect, with nearly 40 actors working together in various ways (and positions). That is to say, there was drama _always_. But, becoming a sudden headliner after just a week on the job? Well, take that regular drama, put it under some sultry lighting, work it up and then walk away when it’s ready to pop, and _that’s_ the kind of drama Sawamura Daichi was dealing with once his demo video—a solo shower bit with a big, showy dildo and an extravagant come-shot—almost broke the servers as well as the company record, topping the charts on their website for two weeks. 

It wasn’t as if Daichi had planned on starting shit with any of his coworkers. But when he’d been informed he’d be shooting a locker room scene with Spike Industries’ top headliner and top… top, Kuroo Tetsurou, for his first partnered video, things just sort of _happened._

Really, he hadn't meant to challenge him! 

Well, maybe he had, but this guy—he’d looked at Daichi in his bulging jock-strap, shiny with baby oil for their first take and hair standing on end like he’d _already_ been well-fucked—and he’d taken Daichi’s hand and squeezed it. Said, “About time we brought some fresh meat onto the team,” with an accompanying snide laugh, and had not let go of his hand for a good while. 

Kuroo was hellishly attractive, with sharp features, heavy-lidded eyes, broad shoulders, wickedly trim and muscled physique, but… he was obviously a huge dick—disregarding, ahem, equally huge appendages that Daichi would soon become _very_ well acquainted with. And Daichi knew he had a reputation—one that traveled around the company gossip train over and over mostly for the delight of it. He was cool as hell. He could fuck you and two other guys within an inch of your life, in twelve different positions, and do it over again without coming. He had earned the name Superman somewhere down the line because he had, according to that guy with silver hair that Daichi had met in makeup, a 'cock of steel.' 

Daichi had stared at Kuroo _grinning_ at him, their hands clenched for so long that the director had to clear her throat to get them to snap out of it. 

“You ready, J.V.?” he spoke like he was already reciting terrible lines from their scene. Was his entire existence a porno? Daichi resisted the urge to look him up and down again, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. 

“About to knock you back to second string,” Daichi replied almost automatically, inwardly pleased when Kuroo quirked an eyebrow and squeezed his hand harder. 

Then, Kuroo leaned forward like he was going to whisper in his ear. Daichi ignored the swoop in his belly, because there was no swoop in his belly, and felt lips touch his ear. “Good game,” Kuroo said, and then pulled back to _wink_ at him, before heading to the other side of the set to prep. 

So. Understandably, Daichi wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. 

Daichi flexed his hands and untied his robe, letting it drop before striding over to his mark in his costume—a tiny white towel wrapped low on his hips. 

He wanted to make this guy lose. 

He wanted to make Superman, or whatever his terrible nickname was, lose his cool. 

“Aw, yeah,” Kuroo ground out thirty minutes into the shoot after they’d covered the intro, and the obligatory deep-throating on hard linoleum, and the precious few moments of prep that one could get on a porn set. Standing over Daichi pressed into the cool, metal lockers he screwed deep into him with his thick cock, and damn if he would just shut up for the next few minutes Daichi could have a _real_ good time. Too bad he couldn’t come until the cue. “You liking this workout?” Kuroo added, as if to spite him. “My cock working your glutes?” 

_Goodbye, good time_ , Daichi thought. He was thankful that none of the cameras caught the absolutely incredulous face he made at Kuroo’s ad-libs. He did catch the eye of Kuroo’s assistant, a willowy guy with bleached blonde hair, though. The guy made somewhat of a long-suffering face and subtly waved him off as if to say, “He’s just like that.” 

But, then it got worse. 

“Gonna show you how to score like a pro,” Kuroo growled moments later with a twist of his hips. “Til you blow your whistle.” 

Since they were apparently going off-script anyway, Daichi decided, fuck it. He arched his back and moaned spectacularly, even more heart-wrenchingly than Kuroo’s admittedly thorough and thigh-shaking thrusts deserved, and he looked over his shoulder with a hurt expression. 

“Show me, baby,” he husked out, and saw the wink of confusion behind Kuroo's eyes when he followed his words with a roll of his hips, squeezing achingly around his cock. 

What, did no one ever talk back? 

It looked as if maybe they didn’t, or they didn’t convincingly, because Kuroo seemed to falter a little in his strong thrusts, curving down over Daichi’s back as a cover. Daichi closed his eyes as Kuroo sucked a kiss into his neck, a moan petering out on a gasp, and then he took his opportunity. He reached behind him to bury his fingers in that bird's nest of soft dark hair, and closed his fist, holding him flush against his back. 

It would seriously narrow the amount of good camera angles but Daichi was past caring. 

He turned his head infinitesimally toward Kuroo, pulled him subtly by the hair until their cheeks were pressed together, and whined soft so the mics wouldn’t pick it up, “You feel so good, so _thick_.” 

(And he  _did_ but Daichi was ignoring that for the moment.) 

Kuroo huffed out a breath and bit at Daichi’s jaw, slamming into him as if to punctuate Daichi’s words. 

“Filling me up so well—” Daichi continued breathily, arching his neck so he could put his lips _right_ to Kuroo’s ear, “Want you to fuck me for real.” 

To say that Daichi liked being manhandled until he was sprawled on his back with his legs in the air was an understatement, but it paled in comparison to the slightly maddened look Kuroo gave him and his sweat-slick body as he rushed to press his red cock against Daichi’s hole and fuck back into him in their new position on the locker room bench. Kuroo didn’t meet his eyes, and he didn’t say a word, mouth hanging open as he dug his fingernails into Daichi’s thighs and scowled down where their bodies met, concentrating hard on the slide of his cock into Daichi’s ass over and over. Daichi groaned and clenched his fingers into the wood, fingers slippery with lube. 

Daichi flicked his eyes to the director during another overwhelmed moan. They were totally off the rails at this point, but she just motioned to roll with it and pressed thoughtful fingers to her chin with narrowed eyes. 

He heard a muffled, “ _Fuck,_ ” from above him, and turned to catch Kuroo’s expression, distracted and biting his lip raw, before he noticed Daichi looking and clenched his jaw, fucking him so long and so deep Daichi was sure he’d have raw skin from skidding against the bench on his back. 

He was so hard inside him, beyond what Daichi was used to so early in a take—and maybe that’s why he was Superman, or maybe it was because he was closer than he was letting on. 

_Time to blow that whistle,_ Daichi thought with a smirk. He ignored his own leaking erection and stared Kuroo down, using all his strength to rock back onto his cock, glancing by his prostate on every stroke. 

“Got me so hard,” he husked out, and felt Kuroo’s hips judder. “I’m so wet, _fuck_ ,” he added, and the confession made his whole body blush. 

Kuroo’s eyes snapped up to his in surprise, like he knew how real things had just got, and when Daichi moaned on another deep, screwing thrust, Kuroo’s legs must have given out and he _sat_ , straddled on the bench, sending Daichi smacking onto the hard wood on his back. 

Daichi scrambled to lift onto his hands, legs falling to curl around Kuroo’s waist, and he hauled Kuroo close with an arm around his neck, their noses touching. They looked at each other for a long moment, as Daichi rutted onto Kuroo’s cock, as Kuroo fanned his hands out over the cut of Daichi’s hips. 

And then Kuroo kissed him. And he kissed, thankfully not like he talked, but like he _fucked_ , deep and intense and maybe a little lost to sensation. 

Daichi felt his cock tighten, hurtling toward the edge, so he broke away with a final biting kiss and pressed his forehead to Kuroo’s sweaty, mussed bangs. 

“Wanna come on your cock,” he breathed against Kuroo’s lips. 

Kuroo opened his mouth on a tortured, almost silent moan. His fingers went bruising, vice-like on Daichi’s hips and he came hard, thick cock hard as steel and jerking inside him. Daichi moaned in triumph, arched his back and spattered his chest with come. 

There was a beat of silence on set, and then, as if they couldn’t be more unfazed, people started moving around them to set up for whatever came next. 

At this point, Daichi wasn’t sure what would happen next, and he honestly didn’t care. 

He was enjoying his aftershocks quite thoroughly. 

“Hmm,” the the director said once Daichi found it in himself to lift off of Kuroo and stand on weak legs. She pushed her glasses up her nose and glanced at the blonde camera woman next to her, before continuing, “We’ll cut and take a break for now. Boys, be ready on set in half-an-hour for some reshoots and a moneyshot from Tetsu. Interesting artistic choices, but let me know in advance, next time.” 

Daichi nodded at her and accepted a sports drink and a towel from that same guy from earlier, Kuroo’s assistant, who placed an identical drink and towel on the come-drenched bench in front of Kuroo. Kuroo was staring dazedly ahead and looking, frankly, a bit woozy in his spot, cock spent but still red and thick between his thighs. 

Gorgeous. 

His face was equally red, though. It looked like he was having an existential crisis. 

Daichi huffed out a laugh and uncapped his drink for him, placing it into his limp hands. Kuroo looked up at him, eyes lidded. 

“Good game,” Daichi hummed, low, and watched that gorgeous blush darken. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments & kudos are appreciated. <3
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://byesweetheart.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/byesweetheart_)!


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